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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23304022">ghosts from my past (jump out at me)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorryforthedead/pseuds/sorryforthedead'>sorryforthedead</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Glee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, Quinn's family, a bit of angst, married faberry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 13:15:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,754</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23304022</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/sorryforthedead/pseuds/sorryforthedead</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It was like looking in a mirror. A mirror that made her look a few years older but nonetheless, it was like looking at her doppleganger. The deep hazel eyes, the blonde hair, far longer than hers, but in a shade that was certainly recognizable, the strong jaw. “Wow, uh, Frannie,” she says, tightly clutching the bag of ice cream and tea in her right hand.</p>
<p>or</p>
<p>Quinn Fabray runs into her sister after ten years.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Rachel Berry/Quinn Fabray</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>245</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>ghosts from my past (jump out at me)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Hey y'all I'm back with another one shot. if you're reading my multi chapter we were built, i am sorry, i am working tirelessly to try and get my brain to get that next chapter out, but it might be hot sec. Hopefully not too long. This fic is really self indulgent (as all of my fics are it seems) because I love Frannie fics. There's a very healthy mix of that sisterly relationship and faberry moments, so I hope this is to your liking. </p>
<p>The title of this fic is a reworking of lyrics from Ours by Taylor Swift. I do not own that song, and I do not own Glee, its characters or any of the plotlines mentioned!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Ice cream and tea. That’s all the trip out was supposed to be. She was to round the block to the vegan store they had taken into consideration when picking their apartment and then she could go home and be with her sick wife. It was an easy in and out. Or it was supposed to be. Quinn was all of eight feet away from their front stoop when she heard it. “Quinn!” the voice called out, and while Quinn obviously noticed it, she assumed it wasn’t for her, that was until she felt a warm hand wrap around her shoulder, and she heard the person who owned it saying her name once again, “Quinn.”</p>
<p>The voice sounded familiar, she wasn’t quite sure how though, until she turned around. </p>
<p>Then, it clicked.</p>
<p> It was like looking in a mirror. A mirror that made her look a few years older but nonetheless, it was like looking at her doppleganger. The deep hazel eyes, the blonde hair, far longer than hers, but in a shade that was certainly recognizable, the strong jaw. “Wow, uh, Frannie,” she says, tightly clutching the bag of ice cream and tea in her right hand.</p>
<p>“Quinn,” she says, her voice breathy, like she’d been running, or maybe she’s awed, Quinn doesn’t know. Even though the face looking back at her is similar to her own in many ways, Quinn doesn’t have a clue what emotion it conveys. “It’s been so long,” her sister says.</p>
<p>Quinn can’t help but think it wouldn’t have been so long if her father hadn’t kicked her out, but she just nods, “Uh, about ten years I think.”</p>
<p>“I didn’t know you lived in New York,” Frannie says, and Quinn wonders how she would, she rarely talked to her mother, and she never talked to any other family members from home, “Maxwell and I are visiting, from Boston, like a second honeymoon away from the kids,” she laughs a little, but Quinn can’t manage it, she can barely believe this is happening. </p>
<p>“Well, uh,” she reaches up to scratch her neck, and Frannie’s eyes grow wide. </p>
<p>“Quinn Fabray,” she says, gravely serious, “are you married?”</p>
<p>Oh boy. That was a doozy. Of course she was married. The rings on her left hand clearly depicted that, and on any other occasion she would’ve proudly announced who she was married to. But this was her sister. The girl who was raised the way she was, the girl who had just listened to their dad when he said that they didn’t talk to Quinn anymore, until this very moment. Quinn didn’t have a clue how she was going to react to her <em>wife<em>. </em></em></p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Frannie looks at her expectantly, and Quinn realizes she hasn’t responded in a long time, so she just nods, “Yeah, just about two years,” she says, figuring that was a safe topic. </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>“I can’t believe you didn’t call me up! I would’ve loved to be apart,” Would she really have liked to be apart of Quinn’s very elaborate very gay wedding? It seemed doubtful. “I would love to meet your husband.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Quinn almost laughs out loud at that. Her husband. It was almost funny how wrong that sounded. “Uh well, they’re under the weather right now...” Quinn says, praying Frannie doesn’t comment on the “they”. </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>Frannie frowns. “Oh that’s too bad, I hope he gets well soon! Max and I are here for a week and a half more though, so I would love to get dinner with you both,” she says, immediately fishing her phone out of her pocket, “give me your number and I’ll text you, and then you can call me when he’s feeling better.”</em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>It feels utterly strange to take the phone from her <em>sister<em> and enter her phone number. In an ideal world, they never should’ve been this distant, she never should’ve had to do this. But this was not an ideal world, this is a world where she was kicked out at sixteen and her sister and her father never looked back. She doesn’t really even know why she didn’t walk away as soon as she saw her sister. She knows that Frannie wasn’t going to take meeting her wife well, she isn’t going to kid herself, but something in her wanted to do this. Quinn wanted to know her sister again, even at the extremely high risk of getting rejected once again. “There,” she says, handing it back to her sister.</em></em></em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>“Great, get back to me as soon as he’s feeling better. I can’t wait to meet him,” she says, a happy smile on her face, “I’m really excited I ran into you Quinn. I’ve missed you, I just have never known how to get back into contact with you.”</em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>Quinn doesn’t really know what to say to that. Her sister didn’t have to disown her when she got pregnant. Her mother, while falling into issues with her sexuality later, had righted that wrong, accepted the mistake Quinn had made, but Frannie had never even <em>tried<em>. She hadn’t wanted to see Quinn, she didn’t want to hear Quinn’s side of the story or support her or anything. She didn’t really know how to deal with that, how to compare it to the Frannie who apparently missed her, who wanted to get dinner and meet her “husband”. “Yeah, uh, I’ll let you know,” she says, and she figures it’s whatever. She’ll go to one dinner, she’ll hear her sister and her husband say one homophobic word, and then she’ll be gone, because she’s not putting Rachel through that.</em></em></em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>She wonders though, if she should just tell Frannie now. She decides she should, but of course, she doesn’t. “Bye Quinn, see you soon!” Frannie says, and she’s gone, leaving Quinn standing eight feet from the entrance to her apartment, feeling absolutely struck.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Quinn just stands there, honestly unable to move for god knows how long, before finally she shakes herself out of it. She needs to talk to Rachel about this. She doesn’t know how else to deal with it. </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>She almost runs down the rest of the street and up the stairs to their second floor apartment, desperate to get back, at least partially because Rachel will be wondering what took her so long. Quinn unlocks the door to their apartment, puts the ice cream in the freezer and makes Rachel a cup of tea, then goes to the bedroom where she knows Rachel is curled up. </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Sure enough, her wife is wrapped up in blankets, just her head peeking out, Funny Girl playing on the tv. She’s adorable, and it’s moments like this, even when Rachel is sick, that she is so so glad they’re married, regardless of the few choice words she will receive from a sister she barely knows. “Hi baby,” she whispers, watching as Rachel teeters between sleep and wakefulness, eyelids sliding closed and shocking open again. </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Rachel sees her then, taking her eyes off the screen, and smiles widely. “Finally,” she says, taking the cup of tea from her hands and wrinkling her nose when Quinn tries to kiss her, “don’t kiss me. You’ll get sick.”</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>“Worth it,” Quinn says, rounding to her side of the bed and curling in with her wife.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>“You won’t be saying that next week when I’m healthy and I won’t kiss you because you’re sick,” she says, sipping at her cup of tea and letting out a contented sigh, “What took you so long?”</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Quinn shuts her eyes, taking a deep breath. She snuggles closer to Rachel before she starts, and she notes that she doesn’t protest that. It makes her smile, gives her the courage to speak about this weird experience. “I ran into someone,” Quinn says vaguely. </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Rachel looks at her, eyeing the clear tension in her shoulders. Quinn knows Rachel knows she’s a little uncomfortable. “Who?” </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Quinn pauses for a moment. This whole thing was so fucking weird. “My sister,” she says, and watches as Rachel’s brows furrow.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>“I’m sorry, did you say your sister?”</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>“Yes,” she says, “Frannie Fabray in the flesh, on a so-called second honeymoon with her husband Max.”</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>Rachel seems just as shocked as she had been. “It’s been ten years right, since Beth?” she says, and Quinn nods.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>“She says she missed me, when she was the one who just followed Russell when he kicked me out. How fucked up is that?” Quinn says, almost a little angry.</em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>She calms a little when Rachel grabs her hand and squeezes. Her wife doesn’t say anything so she just continues. “And guess what!” she says, “she saw my rings, figured I was married, and decided dinner with me and my <em>husband<em> would just absolutely make her week!”</em></em></em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Rachel giggles a little. “Your husband?”</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>“My husband. She thinks I’m married to a man and I didn’t even correct her, because I was scared,” she says, angrily at herself for not proclaiming her happy marriage to the best woman in the world.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>“It’s okay baby, I know what your family was like, I understand why you’d be scared to tell her,” Rachel says, running smooth circles along Quinn’s hand with her thumb, “did you accept her dinner invitation?” </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Quinn nods, “Yeah, I told her once you were better we could go. I utilized they pronouns in a nearly suspicious way, but I don’t think she even suspects you’re anything other than the perfect Christian man I was supposed to marry.”</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>“Well I am certainly not that now am I?” Rachel teases.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>“No you are not, and thank god for that,” she leans in to kiss a bit, but Rachel pulls away.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>“Did you get her number or something? How are you supposed to contact her?” she asks.</em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>“Uh, I gave her my number she was supposed to te—” Her phone rings. Speak of the devil. </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>Quinn fishes the phone out of her pocket, a text from Frannie that just says <em>So happy I ran into you today Quinn. What are the odds in such a big city! Call me as soon as your husband’s feeling better! I’m sure his man cold will end soon :)<em></em></em></em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>Quinn nearly cringes at the message. </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>Rachel reads it over her shoulder, a soft “Oh boy,” whispered. They were both in for a lot.</em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>///</em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>Quinn’s plan had been to inform her sister that the husband she’d been talking about almost nonstop every time they texted was actually a wife, pretty much right away but it hadn’t worked out like that. She had been too fucking scared. </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>Rachel feels better by Thursday, and so Quinn schedules their dinner for Monday, the night Rachel doesn’t have her show. Her wife loves her, but she wouldn’t miss a show for the world, especially after being sick for the better part of the week. </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>Quinn wonders as she confirms the date how cruel it would be if she and Rachel just showed up. She decides that’s what she’s going to do, because for once in the two years she had been married, she was finding it terribly hard to admit who she was married to. </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>///</em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>Monday night comes and Quinn is nervous. She doesn’t know why she’s so scared, but she supposes it’s because really, Frannie was her sister. Even if she was mad her sister had never reached out, she did want a relationship with her. The entirety of Quinn’s biological family had disowned her. If by some miracle Frannie wasn’t homophobic, if she wasn’t going to immediately leave dinner upon seeing Quinn’s wife, then she would finally get <em>family<em> again.</em></em></em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>She loves her found family more than anything, Rachel’s dads had taken her in as their own, Santana’s mom adored her, and all their friends were like family to her, but there’s something about her own blood relative. She finds it weird that Frannie, a woman who in every physical way was nearly identical to Quinn had no real relationship with her. It was strange. </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>She supposes that’s what the fear was. That she’d lose this last chance. She doesn’t ever regret marrying Rachel, it was the best decision she’d ever made, it changed her life, but she will admit it certainly complicates this whole thing. </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>It’s when Rachel calls for her to zip up her dress that her wife can tell she’s nervous. Rachel’s wearing a deep blue dress that she looks incredible in, and it makes her wonder how she’s ever supposed to take her hands off her wife. She knows she certainly won’t be able to take her eyes off her. </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>She takes the zipper in her hands, but she struggles for a moment, because her hands shake a lot. “Baby,” Rachel says, turning in her arms, “are you okay? You seem to be struggling with that.”</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>Quinn sighs, shaking her head. “No, honestly,” she says, as Rachel pulls her into a hug. </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>“Talk to me Quinn,” Rachel says, rubbing her back.</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>Quinn just sits in Rachel’s arms for a moment, scared out of her mind. “I don’t know. I guess… I’m just terrified. I want her to like me, as stupid as that is. I want her to want to be my sister again, even if she hasn’t reached out to me in ten years and we were never that close. I wish me being happy, having the best marriage in the world didn’t make it so dicey between my family and me. It’s not fair,” she says.</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>“I wish that too,” Rachel says, “you don’t deserve to carry so much fear. It makes your shoulders tense. Remind me to give you a massage later.”</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>Quinn can’t help but laugh. “You’re the best wife in the world, you know that?”</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>“I do. Now,” Rachel says, pulling away, settling her hands on Quinn’s arms, “it’s gonna be okay. I am never going to leave your side the whole night, we’re in this together. If she doesn’t accept you, I am so sorry, and I know it will hurt, but that’s her loss. She’ll never get to learn how incredible you are, and how awesome your wife is too. If she does accept you, then great. I am so happy for you, and I can’t wait to sit through dinner and meet a person who experienced baby Quinn Fabray. Either way, you come out on top, and I am here, okay?”</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>Quinn just nods, letting Rachel’s words and touch soothe her. “I love you,” she whispers, needing to express just how lucky she was.</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>“I love you too,” She says, pressing a quick kiss to her lips and then turning around to let Quinn at the zipper again, “now zip me up! The Fabray-Berrys have places to be.” </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>Quinn can’t help but smile. She fucking loves this woman.</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>///</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>They arrive at the restaurant just on time. Usually Rachel was early to a fault, but she knew her wife didn’t need this to be dragged out, so they went for the exact time. Rachel asks the hostess for the table, and they’re taken to a secluded booth in the back of this fancy restaurant. Quinn can barely breathe, knowing they’re moments away from what could make or break this gathering. They approach the table and Quinn resists the urge to reach for the comforting presence of Rachel’s hand. “Quinn!” Frannie says with a happy smile, standing to hug her.</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>They hug for a moment, and then step away. It’s then Frannie notices Rachel. Quinn wonders if she’ll put it together, or if Quinn was going to have to tell her. Frannie’s eyes drag up and down her, then she turns back to her sister. “Who is this?” she asks, “and where’s your husband?”</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>So she was going to have to tell her. She takes a deep breath. “Yeah, well, about that,” she says, looking at her hands, “I kind of don’t have a husband.”</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>Frannie frowns. “What? But you said you were married,”</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>“I am. Frannie, this is my wife, Rachel,” she says, gesturing to her.</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>It dawns on Frannie then, and her jaw drops. This is it. “Wow, uh, huh,” Frannie says, not seeming to be able to say much of anything else, “are you serious?”</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>Quinn laughs uncomfortably. “Um, yeah, deadly,” she says, pausing for a second, “is that… uh… okay?”</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>That spurs Frannie into action. “Yes Quinn, of course!” she says, and it’s like relief flushes through her whole body.</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>Frannie looks at her for a moment. “I’m sorry I seemed so shocked, but I promise it’s not because I’m homophobic,” she says, seeming to collect her thoughts, “do you want to sit? This seems like a sitting conversation.”</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>Quinn feels it’s okay for her to sit, so she takes Rachel’s hand, and pulls her into the booth. Frannie looks at them both, eyeing them in shock, but not a bad kind of shock, Quinn thinks. “Wow,” Frannie says, “this is just very unexpected.”</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>Quinn nods awkwardly. </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>Frannie meets her eyes, “I have a lot of questions honestly, to start though, I am sorry I just assumed you had a husband! I figured you know… with how we grew up, and well what I knew of you as a teen, it wasn’t really a possibility. A stupid move on my part obviously,” she says and Quinn nods again, feeling just as shocked as Frannie seems to be.</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>“That’s okay,” Quinn whispers, “what are your questions?”</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>She’s a bit fearful of this, but Rachel squeezes her hand and it feels like she could do anything. “I mean, I guess, are you gay?” Frannie asks.</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>Quinn doesn’t see why it really matters. But she doesn’t hesitate to answer, now that she knows she’s not about to be burned at the stake. She’s proud of her sexuality. “Yes,” she says.</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>“Wow, that must’ve been difficult given our parents, I am sorry you had to deal with that,” she says, “when did you realize?”</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>Quinn feels a bit like she’s being poked and prodded. “Senior year I guess, I had feelings for Rachel, when I thought she was marrying another person. I had inklings though, far before that,” </em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>“Wait, that’s where I recognize you from!” Frannie says, her gaze diverting to Rachel, “You’re from Lima! You’re Rachel Berry right?”</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>Rachel nods, “Well, Rachel Fabray-Berry now,” she corrects, butterflies swimming in Quinn’s stomach at the name, even two years later.</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>Frannie smiles. “Hyphens, that’s cute,” she says, “I recognize you from when you were younger, and well, Max works with your father, Hiram. I’ve never met him, but apparently he sings your praises. Max says he talks about his daughter and her wife all the time, I didn’t realize it was you,”</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>Max nods, a soft smile on his face. “Your dads are both very nice people, Hiram has really taken me under his wing at work,” he says and what the fuck? How is the world so small? She had never seen Frannie on her very limited trips back to Lima and yet they run into each other in New York, and Frannie’s husband works with Rachel’s father? It was all a bit too much for her.</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>Still though, she finds herself wondering about all this.</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>“Not to sound ungrateful or something, but honestly, I am surprised you’re uh…”</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>“Not homophobic?” Frannie asks.</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>Quinn nods.</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>“My roommate in college was gay, Max’s brother is gay. I just realized I was wrong. God wouldn’t hate someone for loving, and I am really glad I came to that conclusion now, sitting before my baby sister and her wife!” Frannie says, “I just really wish I had gotten to go to the wedding. And speaking of that, I’m sorry I didn’t reach out sooner. I didn’t really know how to get ahold of you, and that was an excuse for how absolutely terrified I was to contact you. I was scared you’d be upset with me for how I acted when you got pregnant, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. It was immature of me and I am sorry. I hope I can be a better sister to you now.”</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>Quinn can barely believe those words, they seem like a dream. She was twenty-six years old and her sister finally wanted to be a part of her life. “Thank you Frannie, that means absolutely so much to me. Thank you really,” she says, before continuing, “I know it’s no substitute for being there, but Rachel and I have a million pictures of it and a video we can definitely show you.”</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>“No promises Quinn won’t cry looking at them both though,” Rachel teases, and the look on Frannie’s face is priceless.</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>“Quinn Fabray, crying at her wedding video, that’s not something I’d ever expect,” she says and Rachel laughs a little.</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>Quinn just smiles. “It’s Quinn Fabray-Berry, and what can I say? It was the best day of my life,” she says.</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
                    <em>
                      <em>
                        <em>She has one more question though. “You said you had children right?” Quinn says, realizing she had nieces or nephews she hadn’t ever met.</em>
                      </em>
                    </em>
                  </em>
                </em>
              </em>
            </em>
          </em>
        </em>
      </em>
    </em>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <em>
      <em>
        <em>
          <em>
            <em>
              <em>
                <em>
                  <em>
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                        <em>“Yes, three boys, Liam, Logan and James,” she says, looking at Quinn with a half smile that she knows is eerily similar to her own, “if you find yourself in Lima anytime soon I know they’d love to meet their Aunt Quinn and Aunt Rachel.”</em>
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                        <em>Quinn’s heart flutters in her chest. She had nephews! She had nephews who her sister wanted to meet, nephews who would call both her and Rachel aunt. That was one of the best things she’d heard all night. “I think that definitely could be arranged,” she says, looking at Rachel who nods.</em>
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                        <em>“What about you two? Any nieces or nephews planned for me?” she teases. </em>
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                        <em>Quinn smiles at just the thought. It was a huge part of her dream, kids with her wonderful wife. Her and Rachel had talked about it, they both wanted it so badly, but they wanted to enjoy being married alone for awhile, and both she and Rachel were at delicate places in their career. “Somewhere down the line for sure,” Quinn says, squeezing Rachel’s hand, “but for right now, we’re enjoying being a married couple alone, and focusing on our careers.”</em>
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                        <em>Frannie nods, “So what is it that you both do?” </em>
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                        <em>And as she and Rachel launch into a passionate discussion about their jobs they loved very much, Quinn can’t believe how natural this all feels. She’s just enjoying dinner with her sister, her sister’s husband, and her wife. It was just what she never knew she needed.</em>
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  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Hope that was enjoyable, please kudos and comment if it was to your liking !!! Will be back soon hopefully, am trying to use my more free time for writing fics and have a bunch of wips, so they might be coming.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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